


Take Me Under

by Hopetohell



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28647828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: When he grits outI needit’s pulling against every fiber in him that demands he be stoic and strong, that he throw away the parts of him that make him weak.Walker tries his hand at subbing.
Relationships: August Walker/Reader, August Walker/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Take Me Under

_Take me under,_ he doesn’t say. And he never would say it if he could help it; August would extend his hands palm-up and wait for you to get it. But 

_August. Come on. I need to hear it. I need to know you’re with me_

he is so reluctant; when he grits out _I need_ it’s pulling against every fiber in him that demands he be stoic and strong, that he throw away the parts of him that make him weak, 

_(Not weak, damn it. Human. Much as you wish you weren’t)_

that make him vulnerable. And if you were to strike him he wouldn’t mind; he wears pain like a suit of clothes, always there but rarely in his conscious thought. Only when the cold bites at his knuckles, or when the old dislocation rears its head. 

(You’d thought to put him in strappado once, to blank his mind and it had nearly worked; only the sweat beading on his brow gave any clue. He would’ve let you take him under, would’ve let you continue to raise his arms up and back behind him, and he would’ve returned to himself damaged, one arm useless and at least it’s not his gun arm but)

Here is August and he needs it more than air. And he tells you this with words like falling leaves, words that you crush to powder beneath your heels because here he is and he is yours; he recites his safe word between gritted teeth and shoves himself out of his body and into your hands. 

And now here August is with his back to the wall, rattling his cuffs in this room with the rings driven deep into the studs. Here he is driven to distraction with his cock in your mouth, and somehow he’d never twigged to the idea that though usually this means _you_ submit to _him,_ sometimes it can mean the other way around. Because he cannot do a thing about it: he’d tried to move his hips to get himself deeper and only earned a sudden chill when you’d moved your mouth away.

The lesson is _be still_ and for a man who could lie for hours unmoving with his eye to the scope, somehow this is so very difficult. But if it were easy, it wouldn’t be what he wanted. So he plants his feet and stills his hips and watches you work him. And at the moment when he’s so close, when he can feel sensation building to a peak, you stop to watch him suffer. 

_Pet,_ he doesn’t say. _Please,_ he holds within himself. 

_I’ll do this til you beg, or til you pull your cuffs loose from the walls._

And it’s not a punishment, but it is a lesson; every time he almost comes there’s a curse bitten back behind his teeth. He knows what’ll get him what he wants but oh, he struggles with it. His cock is so red, so angry, hard, twitching, shining with spit and precome. His thighs are all corded muscle and the tendons rise on his neck, all for the agonizing pressure of orgasm that remains just out of reach. And he bears it all until 

_Ah_

_Now we’re getting somewhere._

And your jaw aches around him, but it’s worth it. Worth it for the way that _ah_ unfurls into a _fuck,_ worth it for the way he finally, after what must be hours, grits out _please. Please make me come._ Not let. Not the word that implies agency, implies choice, but rather

_Make me. Please._

And this time when you bring him to the edge you do not stop; you fling him over and nearly choke on the thick pulsing length of him but it’s worth it. It’s worth it for the curses that fall about you like rain as you work him past enough and into too much. It’s worth it to see him take and take and _take it_ until you’re through, to see the soft inclination of his head as you rise to kiss him full of his own taste. It’s worth it for the easing of the lines around his eyes, for the tiny quirk of his lips. But here he is, still at your mercy and still capable of thought, and so you look at him and say

_Shall we continue?_


End file.
